


faded roses.

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, older work ://
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'd told him that I only photographed the things that I loved. </p><p>I didn't tell him about how strictly I adhered to that rule — that I never made a mistake. He didn't consider that, for even in all of my meticulousness, the boy with the bright green eyes couldn't understand, didn't have a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	faded roses.

**Author's Note:**

> This is really just something I wrote forever ago that I liked a lot. It's super short, but I enjoyed writing it.

_**1.** _

He told me that he only took pictures of the things that he loved. 

On bright days when the sun was at its peak he would photograph the crashing waves as they'd break across the beach — across our toes that would squish in the damp sand. Other times, he would capture something fleetingly delicate, and beautiful like the butterfly on that quiet spring morning. The wings had been ornate, with swirls of black on orange, the hues fading and pulling between extreme color schemes. 

I'd worried. A part of my ankle had been caught in the photo, but he shook his head and laughed at my distress, telling me that it was okay, that he wanted it there.

Grey eyes filled my mind.

As time continued, he slipped up in incorporating me into his photographs more times than I could quantify — a part of an arm here, a section of my face there, strands of my hair everywhere. 

I'd apologize each and every time, waiting for the day he no longer wanted me to accompany him on walks to potential subjects. But each and every time, his grey eyes would light up mischievously as he insisted that I follow him wherever he went, because I was "useful to his needs."

I'd simply agreed. He was my heart's obsession, and I think he knew that. Because beneath the mask, there was a smartass who could make the simplest of things beautiful. He could have spent hours rambling on about how my sister's hair was collectively different shades of black, and I'd have listened attentively. 

One day he'd spoken of my eyes, and how they'd make a lovely photograph. He explained how they never appeared the same color — that they were a unique sort of brilliant.

He captured my eyes.

He told me that I had a button nose, but that my "angry eyebrows" made up for it. 

He photographed my nose. 

Small, under-used smile lines curved around light eyes as he told me that he loved pale red, and that faded red roses reflected the color of my lips.

He photographed his lips on mine. 

—

I'd told him that I only photographed the things that I loved. 

I didn't tell him about how strictly I adhered to that rule — that I never made a mistake. He didn't consider that, for even in all of my meticulousness, the boy with the bright green eyes couldn't understand, didn't have a clue.

I'd capture the sun, the waves, butterflies — trivial things. 

I'd told him that his eyes are beautiful, and I captured the pink tint on his cheeks with my eyes. It was a different sort of photograph, but an image all the same. Inadvertently, I believe that made it all the more precious to me. 

I photographed the boy's eyes, his nose.

I'd told him that his lips were my favorite shade of fading red, and captured the act of pressing my lips to his. 

I captured his gasp with my mouth, imaging the feel of him with my hands that curled into his hair — eyes shut but wide open simultaneously, a different kind of image consuming my mind. This was vibrant, bursts of bright color pouring from the cracks and breaths between us, seeping into the absorbent ground that seemed to be spinning beneath me. 

I could see hues of blue and gold in my mind. The green eyed boy didn't pull away.

I loved him. 

I love him. 

_I still love him._


End file.
